


Touch my world with your fingertips

by demondoll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bittersweet, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24819856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demondoll/pseuds/demondoll
Summary: Within seconds of waking before he had even blinked open his eyes he knew he was alone.  Not just alone in the bed alone that was a regular occurrence when you shared your life with an insomniac angel but alone alone.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Touch my world with your fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> TW - emotional descriptions of bereavement and loss nothing graphic and no major premature character death but please take care if this resonates with you.
> 
> Title taken from Queen’s Who wants to live forever.
> 
> I own nothing except the words that I have written and the mistakes I have made.

Crowley awoke to the sun streaming through the uncovered windows, the windows were always left uncovered it was the only way he could ensure that his sleep was measured in hours rather than days, weeks, months or years. Mind it had been some time since he had slept or more to the point since he had wanted to sleep for longer than a few hours.

Within seconds of waking before he had even blinked open his eyes he knew he was alone. Not just alone in the bed alone that was a regular occurrence when you shared your life with an insomniac angel but alone alone.

Stretching his limbs out from where they had been curled he slithered out from under silky sheets and unfolded himself into a standing position. With a click of his fingers he both washed and transformed his sleep pants into his to his day clothes and ventured out of the bedroom and down the rickety stairs of the modest two bedroom South Downs cottage they had spent the best part of two hundred years living in.

It was a simple ramshackle cottage with three rooms upstairs, two bedrooms and a large wet room separating them. A rickety staircase led down into the main reception room which had long since been converted into a library trans dimensionally altered so it never ran out of shelving space yet despite this it still had almost as many books piled onto the dusty floor as were on the shelves. Even though the written word in the traditional sense had long since moved to electronic devices the angel still managed to find someone willing to put them to print.

Although Crowley would never have admitted it out loud he loved this room, it was why he had the staircase moved so it could be the first room he walked into as he descended. It smelt like Aziraphale, of old paper mixed with tea, sugar, chocolate and something spicy that in over six thousand years Crowley had never identified. It wrapped around his senses surrounding him in an aromatic hug that forever reminded him of his Angel and Crowley craved the smell as an addict craved his next hit. Even when Aziraphale was standing right in front of him or when Crowley was holding him in his arms he still craved the angels scent. In times past that was all he had had of him, all he thought he would ever have. Those times were far in the distant past and yet sometimes felt like only yesterday. The memory of the longing, the desperation the endless ache of never having what he’d needed yet it being so close he could almost reach out to touch it and of never believing that he ever would be able to was still too strong a memory to forget, a memory that still hit without warning and when it did he needed his Angel in his arms, he needed to touch, to love, to hold him, to breath him in and to surround himself with the knowledge that he now belonged body and condemned soul to the only creature in all creation he had ever wanted and who amazingly wanted him back.

He had never and would never take that for granted he never woke with the absolute certainty that Aziraphlae was his, there was always an element of doubt a small whispering voice in the back of his head telling him that he’d dreamt it that he’d slept the last two centuries away and that it was still 1967 and he was too fast or 2019 when it was over and he wasn’t a friend that he wasn’t liked, that he was a foul fiend, a demon unworthy of the love of an angel. He had to constantly remind himself that was the past that he was wanted that he was needed, that he was loved and that Aziraphale had chosen him that they were still on their own side.

Their side, the only side that Crowley had ever really considered himself on.

He breathed deeply through his nose as he crossed the library drawing the aroma deep into his lungs, his almost human tongue flicking across his teeth scenting and tasting, it was almost, almost enough to cover the stench of brimstone that was ever present in his nostrils even though it had been two centuries since he had last had any contact with Hell, once a demon always a demon. His mouth lifted into a soft half smile, Azriaphale never seemed to mind and he would go so far to say that his more demonic nature was one of the things he loved best about him.

As he moved into and though the kitchen he brushed his hand against the kettle, his Angel was still so old fashioned no cans of boiling water for him, it was still warm wherever Azirpahale was he hadn’t left that long ago.

He stepped into the garden.

Whereas the cottage was reasonably modest the garden was huge several acres worth of huge it flowed out from the back door lush and verdant a seemingly haphazard meandering of patios, paths, plants, trees and bushes that were in reality anything but haphazard. They had been meticulously organised and trained to grow exactly where Crowley wanted them to and woe-betide any of them that tried to grow differently to the plan that he had in his head!

Throughout the garden there were secret places, places that no human would ever find even if they spent hours in the garden, little flower meadows perfect for picnics, grassy clearings of feather soft grass for midnight star gazing, exceptionally comfortable benches ideal for losing yourself for days in a book. Small summer houses that, when required held fridges full of of his angels favourite snacks and wine of the exact temperature and vintage that they wanted at the time they wanted it and large flat rocks positioned to get the most sun and just right for a serpent to sun himself on should the need arise. Beyond that were grape vines and brambles and an orchard that when planted were tiny fragile sampling’s but now stood sturdy and laden with the shiniest of apples and the juiciest of pears. Beyond the orchard was the sea, a cliff top with stone steps leading down to a golden sandy beach full of shells and driftwood and stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. A section of beach that always stood deserted - it just never occurred to the humans to visit it - just waiting for an Angel and demon to take a stroll.

Crowley stood just outside the back door a rich cup of black coffee conveniently appearing in his hand. He took a long sip and sent a few mind tentacles out seeking the location of his angel. Aziraphale wasn’t in the garden and wasn’t on the beach. Crowley reached out further but he wasn’t in the lane leading to village a few miles away and with a further reach he discovered that he wasn’t in the village itself either.

A low level rub of concern pushed against him, while he realistically knew that Aziraphale was perfect fine he could feel him somewhere and there was no sense of danger emanating from him at all, he was just not close enough to get an exact bead on his location. There was just too many years full of fear for him not to have a knee jerk reaction of terror that someone had come for them and that they hadn’t been forgotten even in the face of everything pointing to the contrary. It had after all been many many years since either of them had felt the remotest twinge that one of their counterparts were even on the planet. Heaven and Hell had it would seem left the earth alone, had totally left the humans to their own devices. Yet as comfortable as they now were it would be foolish to let their guards drop totally eternity was after all eternal and neither of them thought for one second that they wouldn’t have the final battle to deal with, but as the failed Armageddon had taken 6000 years to organise they didn’t think they had much to worry about for a while yet.

Even so it was unusual for Aziraphale not to be somewhere around when he woke. He checked his watch just to make sure he hadn’t been asleep for a week and the Angel hadn’t just gotten bored and just decided to hop over to the continent for something to nibble on.

No he had only slept for ten hours just a nap really, he checked the date just to be doubly sure, 27 September 2239.

Oh, 27 September.

Oh, Crowley knew where he was.

Oh Angel, you perfect sentimental wonderful creature.

Crowley often wondered if it were possible to love Aziraphale any more than he already did and just when he would decide that no his heart was as full of love as it could possibly be something happened and he realised that yes he could love him more that his capacity for loving him was infinite and he staggered under the weight of it. He felt powerless in that he could never find the words to tell him just how full of love he was nor could he find the exact action to demonstrate it.

When their time was up when their corporations turned to dust and they became one with the stars his only regret would be that he had never been able to vocalise the sheer depth and strength of his love and even though he’d had forever to hold, touch and kiss him it would never, never be long enough.

With a snap of his fingers he took himself immediately to where he knew Azirpahale was.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The churchyard was empty, the gravestones neglected, families having either moved on or long dead themselves yet it wasn’t unloved this small parish church no longer used for Sunday services, weddings or funerals religion having become more individual and less institutional over the years and those who wanted group services tended to congregate in the larger more modern multi faith houses of worship in the cites or went online for the more traditional preaching. This church had seen no pastoral use in a very long time, time enough to allow Crowley to walk its grounds with little more than light pins and needles in his feet.

As he rounded the west side of the church he saw the Angel towards the rear of the graveyard a vision in white among the greys of the stones and the greens and browns of the unkempt foliage, and he knew, even though he had never been here before, he knew whose grave it was he stood in front of.

Slowly and silently Crowley stepped through the long grass and as he grew closer and started to recognise the names etched into the headstones his heart felt heavy. These wonderful amazingly brilliant humans who had for a short time accepted, cared for and loved a renegade Angel and demon that was so un-demonic Hell had rejected him, and had welcomed them into their mayfly lives.

He read each name as he passed and brought each face to mind in his own personal memorial to the people whose actions had allowed him to be with his Angel in every sense of the word, without them they wouldn’t have had their forever their happy ever after their eternity, they would have been at best reduced back to secret rendezvous and clandestine meetings too scared to touch and to voice their feelings, and at worst, well the worst was something that even his worst nightmares shied away from so awful that his mind could not even begin to comprehend it.

Each name echoed in his head and although by nature he couldn’t admit it, bought tears to his eyes, Tracy Shadwell, the weird and wonderful Madam Tracy was the first to go, the one who had carefully housed and transported his Angel safely so Adam could gift him back to him in the body he knew, desired and adored. Her husband The Sargent a shadow in both of their lives for so many years just as weird but maybe not quite so wonderful had heartbrokenly followed his Jezabel a mere two months later.

Across from them Arthur and Deirdre Young who despite having ethereal and occult friends and the Antichrist for a son were unable to escape death following a multi car pileup on the M40, but as everyone had said at the time at least they went together it was unimaginable having been together since they were fourteen for either one of them to have lived without the other.

A couple of rows back were the Devices, let’s face it Anathema was never going to be a Pulsifer! They had been so happy having chosen to live life as it happened rather than constantly looking to and trying to decipher the future and had been great friends of both he and Aziraphale. Anathema was absolutely delighted to have the friendship of an Angel and demon and Newt, well Newt just happily tagged along a little bewildered but completely in love with his wife. Crowley was sad when they died but both had been blessed with a deliriously happy life and lived to a very old age, neither of them plagued with pain or ill health, maybe there was some thing in those potions and lotions she kept making!

The Them were further back Pepper, Brian, Wensleydale and of course Adam they were together their whole lives sharing everything and with the exception of their university years they had stayed in the village in which they had been born. None had married yet they were very defiantly two distinct couples Pepper and Adam and Brian and Wensleydale.

They had shared a large cottage on the outskirts of the village along with a small dog called Dog, who it has to be said looked remarkably like the dog that found Adam on his eleventh birthday if of course it were possible for a dog to live that long, which it wasn’t. Hellhounds however lived until their owners were no more! They hadn’t had any children and although it was never discussed Crowley was certain it was Adams fear of his true parentage that stopped them. Still they fostered many children in need of a temporary home and they in turn found the magic of making dens and playing games in Hogback Woods.

Crowley’s heart clenched a little as his thoughts turned to the one grave that was missing, the little boy who should never have been caught up in the whole Armageddon mess in the first place, the little boy who was heavily influenced by the charms of a demon and love of an Angel who grew up to take on the world and become the most influential politician of his time his achievements far far surpassing those of his inattentive father and frankly flighty mother. He fought the battles of the underdog campaigning for equality and inclusion. He was loved by the people and hated by those he stood against. He was ruthless when he believed he was right and kind to those that needed it. All in all he was a perfect balance of good and evil.

Crowley had loved him yet to ensure his safety had never seen him again after his eleventh birthday party.

That left one grave the grave that his Angel were standing in front of, the grave of the last human Crowley had allowed him to become that close to.

He simply couldn’t cope with the devastation his Angel felt when they died. In six thousand years they had been a part of so many lives, watched their joy and suffering and eventual demise some with nary a thought and others with a tear or two but all from an emotional distance and with a realist approach to human life and death and never, never feeling more than a passing affection in the case of the Angel and a mild case of irritation in the case of the demon.

But these people, this small mismatched group of humans had wormed their way inside all their defences and set up a home in their hearts. They had met in the darkest of times experienced the almost end of the world and had come together in victory on an airbase in a small village on a tiny island in a great big world in a vast galaxy of stars.

They had had teas and lunches and Christmas's and celebrations. Shared good times and bad, laughter and tears. They had gone shopping, to plays and school concerts, attended weddings, gotten drunk and opened their hearts and been welcomed into their homes. They had had a life with these people and when they were no more Crowley felt loss for the first time in his existence in exactly the same way humans did.

Azirpahale though was incandescent with grief at each passing and Crowley could do nothing to help. He held him, rocked him like a child and loved him with everything that he had but it hadn’t been enough. He watched him rage at the heavens and collapse in tears, stood by helplessly as he swept through the cottage removing and hiding all the pictures and mementos of the times they had shared and had then retrieved them all for him the following day when he had hated himself for trying to pretend they hadn’t existed.

He had stood firm and took the harsh words and physical blows, the accusations of him not caring enough and the brutal claims that he was unable of loving anything or anyone including the Angel himself, denying his love and pushing him away even as he clawed at him and pleaded with him not to leave him alone. Each word, each pummel to his chest Crowley held him in an iron like grip harsher than the last, each time a part of Crowley dying only to be revived when Aziraphale collapsed in his arms sobbing out his apologies and his love begging Crowley to take the pain of loss away. He then carried his Angel to bed and loved him until they were both too weak to grieve, held him as he slept murmuring senseless words of comfort and love and then kissed him gently through those first blissful seconds upon wakening when everything was right in the world before reality crept in and the grieving process started again.

Eventually as it does the loss lessened and life returned somewhat to normal until the next phone call the next passing when it started again and each time Crowley’s heart broke a little more and it took him a little longer to put his Angel back together again until the fear of another death and the time it took Azirapahle to recover meant that their lives became just one long constant stream of loss and pain.

Finally after Adam died and Aziraphale went missing for nearly a month Crowley finally tracking him down to a remote desert hillside in the Middle East where they once over two thousand years ago stood to witness the sacrifice of Her son Crowley decided that enough was enough and he insisted that it was time to let the humans live their lives without them. It was he said time they retired properly and took time for themselves. They needed to be selfish and to withdraw, to be together the way they had always dreamed of.

It was just too hard to live forever and to keep suffering loss.

Once the last human decedent of the Armageddon crew died they needed to step back from humanity it was now time for them after all of these years it was finally time for them, and with a small smile Azriaphale had agreed.

Crowley came now to stand by his Angel silently threading their fingers together unconsciously listening for the metallic clink of his wedding ring knocking against its partner, still in awe after all these years that it was there at all, the silly human celebration of love meant nothing to angels and demons but to the two of them it meant everything.

He read the inscription on the stone...

In loving memory of Clara beloved daughter of Anathema and Newton Device and adored god-daughter of Azirapahle and Anthony Crowley taken to heaven on 27 September 2139 aged 114 years.

The last descendent, the last loss, the most grieved for.

One hundred years ago today.

Aziraphale turned to his husband of two hundred and nineteen years and with tears running down his face smiled and spoke softly “Please, take me home my dear if you would be so kind, I think now it’s over and it’s time I was yours again.”

One hundred years of sorrow and grief and Crowley had his beloved Angel back.

He gently took his angels face in his hands, brushed away his tears and with more love than could ever be described pressed their lips together.

He blinked once and they were home, back in their garden.

**Author's Note:**

> After many years of writing for my personal enjoyment I have finally plucked up the courage to submit a fic into a fandom I am quite frankly to old to be this obsessed with. 
> 
> For those that have taken the time to read my words I thank you, for those who have taken the time to comment I adore you x


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